


Beauty and the Troll

by trashtrove (editoress)



Category: Trollhunters (Cartoon)
Genre: AU, Beauty and the Beast, F/M, rare but present language, rated for language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-01
Updated: 2017-07-01
Packaged: 2018-11-22 00:37:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11368938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/editoress/pseuds/trashtrove
Summary: A cursed prince.  A village schoolteacher.  Strange creatures.  Forgotten castles.  This is a tale of monsters and magic and finding true love in the oddest places.





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> For Katie, who is practically Belle.

_Once upon a time, in a land not so far away, a changeling called Stricklander lived in royal comfort in our world.  Although he was given great power by ancient beings trapped in the darklands, Stricklander was rebellious, untrustworthy, and ambitious.  One winter’s night, a newly chosen changeling arrived, speaking of loyalty to the dark forces they served.  Stricklander sneered at her obedience and told her that changelings would not have any masters much longer.  She warned him there were consequences to his pride.  And when he protested again, her disguise melted away to reveal not a changeling, but a troll under the command of Stricklander’s own masters._

_Stricklander tried to apologize, but it was too late, for the troll had seen that his only loyalty was to himself.  She returned to inform the ones she served.  As punishment, they took from him his ability to change and placed a powerful spell on all changelings, turning them to lesser creatures of the dark._

_Ashamed and angry, Stricklander concealed himself in his castle, now empty of all but himself and other cursed changelings.  But his masters offered one final, cruel joke, one last mockery of the changelings’ closeness to humans.  If in a mere decade he could earn the love of a human, and learn to love her more than his own ambition, the spell would be broken.  If not, he and his race would face their eternal punishment.  As the years passed, he fell into despair, and lost all hope.  For what human could ever learn to love a troll?_

* * *

The people of Montreuil knew nothing of trolls or magic.  In truth, many of them knew nothing beyond what kept them busy in their daily lives—livestock, children, the weather.  Even Paris was a mystery riddled with wealth and nobility, two things the small country village had no experience with.  Montreuil was a provincial town of cobbled roads and modest houses.

Along one of these roads walked a beautiful young woman.  She had long, wavy red hair and impossibly light seafoam green eyes.  Her skin was pale and pure as porcelain.  Even her gait held a sure, simple grace.  Currently she had an open book held up in front of her face, which was possibly why she never noticed how many admiring gazes she drew.  The villagers’ eyes lingered as they passed her.  Sometimes it was her face that caught their attention; sometimes it was her simple but elegant flowing clothes; sometimes, for a handful of young men and women who turned suspiciously pink every time they crossed paths with her, it was her curves.  But no one bothered to speak to her.

“Professeur Kate!  Hey, Professeur Kate!”

As always, there were exceptions to the rule.  In Montreuil, these exceptions were the exact people who didn’t care a whit about Kate’s beauty.  They only cared that she had a good voice for telling stories and made writing exercises less boring.

Kate lowered her book to see one of her students bounding toward her—Emile, a gap-toothed ten-year-old whose hair seemed floppy and disheveled no matter how his mother cut it.  It fell into his face as he came to a halt in front of her.  “Professeur, it’s almost October,” he informed her gravely.

Kate suppressed a smile.  “I know.”

“ _So_ ,” he pressed on, “you’re going to start telling us the stories, right?  About the wicked elves?  And sylphs?”

Kate pretended to go back to her book.  “You’ll just have to see.”

“ _Professeur_.”

She glanced at him over the top of the book.  His small face was the very picture of suffering.  “If you all finish your September reading,” she allowed, “then maybe I’ll start telling you stories on the first day of October.”

“About what!” Emile whooped, agony forgotten.  His exclamation drew the attention of two girls talking by the fountain.  They were fourteen and thus in a hurry to appear mature, but their teacher’s storytelling was not one of the many things they feigned indifference in.  They abandoned their conversation and crept closer to hear Kate’s answer.

Kate lowered her voice conspiratorially, drawing all three students in.  “Maybe this time I’ll tell you about goblins.  Or the fairy rings that little children have disappeared in.”

“Can you tell the one about the bone witch again?” asked one of the girls.

“Yeah!  The skeletons!” agreed Emile, who apparently remembered only his favorite part of the tale.  Then again, it had been three years since she had told that one.

Kate grinned, but as she opened her mouth to answer, a sharp voice cut across the square.  “Emile!”

Emile jumped.  His mother appeared to take hold of his arm.  “Don’t wander off like that!  It’s too crowded.”

“Sorry, maman,” Emile muttered.

The woman gave Kate a measuring look.  “I hope you weren’t filling their heads with nonsense.”

Kate should have been used to it, but after the children’s enthusiasm, it was like a slap.  “It’s a fall tradition,” she managed.  “They enjoy it.”

“Hmm,” the woman said.  It was a dismissal.  “Come along, Emile.”

Emile allowed his mother to lead him away.  “See you at school on Monday, Professeur!” he shouted back at Kate.

“We’ll see,” Emile’s mother told him.

Kate started.  “Wait—Madame—”  She walked after them, surprisingly fast for all her gentle grace.  “Madame, what does _that_ mean?”

The woman stopped to face her, and what turned Kate’s stomach was the vague look of guilt on her face.  “It’s just a… consideration,” she said neutrally.  “Nothing is certain yet.”

“ _What_ is?” Kate demanded.

The woman drew up to her full height.  “The mayor is looking for a new schoolteacher for Montreuil.”

Kate’s heart dropped.  From what seemed a great distance, she asked, “Is it about the stories?”

“Some of it,” the woman admitted.  “But, well—you’re not helping the children, not really!  They don’t need to know literature and poetry!  Emile isn’t going to be a _scholar_.”

A spark of anger brought Kate back to herself.  “He could be!”

“No, here we are tradesmen!  All we need to do is read inventories and pen reports.  Not recite Shakespeare and spout superstitious tales!”  Firmly, she repeated, “Come along, Emile.”

This time, when they marched away, Emile didn’t even look back or wave at her.  Kate stood rooted to the spot in a storm of emotions, speechless.  When she finally turned away, her older two students were watching her.  They looked as horrified as she felt, but said nothing.

She left before they could see how upset she was.

Kate made it home with admirable composure, helped by the fact that no one stopped to say anything to her.  But the instant she closed her front door behind her, her breath hitched.  The knowledge that her father would be away for a few days yet, that she was home alone, was the only reason she allowed herself to sink down to the floor and start crying.

Teaching the village children was the only thing she enjoyed about Montreuil.  It had been over five years since she and her father had moved here, but the people were still standoffish toward her.  They were rarely rude, but they were rarely welcoming, either.  Kate with her books and supernatural fascination was an anomaly to them.  She didn’t have any _friends_ here.  The nearest thing she had was the respect and enthusiasm of her students, and now that might be taken away from her.

The adults, she decided as she got to her feet with a sniffle, could go jump in the river for all she cared.  They were so— _backward_!  So obsessed with their everyday routines and normalcy that they couldn’t be bothered to try to understand anything outside their own lives.  No—they didn’t _want_ to understand.  And what was worse, they wanted their children to follow in their sad, plodding footsteps.

Kate made it to her bedroom and put her new books away before sitting heavily on the bed.  Her own father had a touch of that attitude.  He would listen to her talk about her desire to travel and study for a while, but if she got too optimistic, he stopped her.

“You can’t always want more,” he would tell her.  “If you’re never satisfied, it’ll just make you unhappy.”

Kate’s dreams weren’t the reason she was unhappy; they were the reason she kept going.  Her wonder and excitement about the world was something she tried to pass on to her students.  She dearly loved the moment a child’s curiosity was sparked.  Kate could help them find dreams of their own.

And still she wanted more.

Kate pressed her fingers against a forming headache and started thinking about what sort of case she could make to the mayor.  She was going to fix this—or at the very least, she wasn’t going out without giving them a piece of her mind.

A familiar whinny outside interrupted her thoughts.  Philippe.  Her father was home early.  Kate rushed to clean herself up, erasing all evidence of tears.  As soon as she felt presentable, she went outside.

Philippe stood just outside the stable, dancing in agitation.  The tack and saddle were still in place, but there was no sign of her father.  Kate reached out one hand and caught Philippe’s reins.  “Papa?” she called.  She leaned around to look in the stable, but there was no one there.  “Papa!”  Philippe’s nicker was her only response.

“Oh, no,” she breathed.

A hundred horrible possibilities flashed across her mind as she ran to lock up the house.  It was almost a full day’s ride to the suburb of Paris where her father did business, and most of the road went through the woods with no civilization to speak of.  Kate did her best to stuff her fears into the back of her mind.  Even so, her hands shook as she pulled a cloak around herself.

It seemed her case to the mayor would have to wait.

Philippe was greedily gulping down water when she returned to the stable.  She tugged him away from the trough.  He had some work to do yet.  “Come on, Philippe,” she said—just to hear her own voice aloud, just to force it steady.  She would ride along the same road her father had taken.  Maybe— _please_ , she pleaded silently—she would find him there.  Philippe’s pace quickened to a canter as they left Montreuil behind.

Kate had traveled this way before on some of her father’s business trips.  Even so, as the woods closed around her, everything seemed strange.  The trees were thick and impenetrable, and the path wound this way and that.  It had never made her nervous before, not being able to look back and see the start of her journey.  The air was heavy and hushed.  Kate’s intention to call out for her father as she went lodged nervously in her throat.

She rode on as the light fell and the woods turned to a landscape of eerie shadows and reddish light.  Try as she might, she couldn’t see any sign of him.  She was peering down so hard that she nearly hit her face on the saddle when Philippe jerked to a halt and started sidestepping.

“Steady,” she soothed.  She stroked the horse’s neck.  “There you go.  Easy.”  She blinked up.  A tiny, narrow path, little more than a deer trail, peeled off the road and into the depths of the forest.  She didn’t remember having seen it before.  “Come on, Philippe.”

But instead of continuing down the road, Philippe pranced a moment more and then headed along the smaller path.

Kate was so bewildered that she let him go.  Philippe was the steadiest workhorse one could ask for, and he carried her father along this road half a dozen times a year.  For him to suddenly veer off track was unheard of.  Kate was uneasy but decided he must have his reasons.

No matter her faith in her horse, Kate was about to turn around when she spotted something dark and round lying on the path.  She leaned forward.  “Whoa!” she ordered, so loudly she startled even herself.  She pulled Philippe to a stop and dismounted as fast as she could.  She dropped to her knees and picked up the object that had caught her eye.

It was his hat.  It was her father’s stupid, ugly traveling that she had begged him to get rid of.  It had become a joke between them—him claiming it was dashing, her claiming it was losing him customers.  She looked up, gripping the hat in both hands.  “ _Papa_!” she called.

There was no answer.

She mounted Philippe, hat in hand, and the continued on.  Philippe followed the road with confidence, if not eagerness, and after a time, the path widened into a proper road.  It was full night by the time they arrived, and moonlight gleamed on a huge iron gate.  Kate dismounted and absently led Philippe by the reins, gaping up at the gate.  This one piece of ironwork looked bigger than her entire house.  But it opened with no trouble.  “Hello?” Kate called.  She heard nothing from within—no movement, no voices.  She didn’t even see a lantern.  Abandoned, then.  Of course it was abandoned; how else could there be an estate this huge and this close to Montreuil that no one had ever heard of?  Philippe’s hooves clacked on the wide cobbled path on the other side of the gate.  It led to a huge building—a mansion, or—

A castle loomed out of the darkness, a towering fortress of dark stone.  Kate’s mouth hung open as she ran her eyes over the modern turrets and archways.  She had some familiarity with architecture, and this wasn’t old—not old enough to be abandoned like this.  But who would secretly built a castle in the middle of the woods within the last thirty years and _leave_ it here?

More immediately, had her father gotten lost?  Or had he suddenly needed shelter?  Kate left Philippe in the weed-riddled courtyard and hurried up the steps.  The front door was nearly as large as the gates, but again, it swung in at her push as if well oiled.  “Papa?” she called into the darkness before her nerves could catch up with her.  She straightened her posture and strode inside.  Moonlight shone through arching windows and gave her a dim view of an enormous entrance hall.  “Papa?”

She was suddenly struck by the humiliating possibility that she had vastly overreacted.  She did that sometimes.  Her father could be safe at home, back from the neighbor’s house, wondering where she ran off to.

She clutched the hat.  No—she had to be sure.  The fact that such doubts had struck now of all times annoyed her enough to let her ignore her fear.  “Is _anyone_ here?”

No one answered her.  Of course they didn’t.

But she did catch a glimmer of firelight in a distant hallway.  Kate hurried up the stairs toward it.  When she reached the landing, it shone more faintly than she would have thought from the entrance.  “Hello?” she shouted.  She stalked after the light, skirt and sleeves flowing behind her.  It seemed no matter how quickly she approached it, it was always just around the next bend.  “This isn’t funny!”

“ _Kate?_ ”

Kate’s swift walk broke into a run at the voice.  “Papa—”

She rounded a corner and he was there.  They stared at each other in the light of a single torch.  The chill stone chamber was dim, and all she could see was that her father was there and that he was in a cell.  He pressed his face against the bars, wide-eyed.  “Oh, shit,” he said weakly.

That brought Kate to her senses, and she rushed at the bars.  Pulling at the cell door had no effect, so she dropped to inspect the lock.  She’d never picked one before, but maybe between her reading and her father’s experience…

“What are you doing?” her father hissed.

“Getting you out of here,” she shot back.

“I already tried that,” he said even as she started shoving one of her hair pins into the lock.  “It’s no good.  How did you get here?”

“Philippe brought me.”

“Well get back on Philippe and get _out_ of here!”

“What is _wrong_ with you?” she demanded.  “I came here to—”

“Kate, _there’s something else in here with us_.”

Kate hesitated, and that was when she heard footsteps.  They made a hollow clacking noise against the stone floor.  It was hard to tell, but they sounded close.

Something grasped the back of Kate’s dress and lifted her clean off the floor, and Kate was _not_ accustomed to being picked up.  “ _Two_ trespassers in as many days!” purred a rough baritone voice.  “I should have prepared a guest room.  Ah!”  She could _hear_ the curl of a smirk in the voice.  “It appears I already did.”

Katie kicked and pulled at the neckline of her dress.  “Put me _down_!” she growled.

“I’m about to, my dear,” the voice assured her.  Kate kicked backward and succeeded only in bruising her heel.  She was dropped to her feet, but before she could turn around, a steely hand pushed her toward another cell.

“Let us go!” her father shouted.

The voice turned cold.  “ _You’re_ the trespasser here, monsieur.”

Kate struggled against the hand, but it only tightened on her shoulder.  “What if you let _him_ go?” she gasped out.

The silence was impossibly heavy and long enough for Kate to get her breath back.  “What?” the voice asked at last.

“If… if you let him go,” she said slowly, “I’ll stay.  He doesn’t deserve to be locked up like this.”

The hand on her shoulder twitched.  “Really,” the voice said softly.  “You’ll stay here _forever_ just to see him free?”

Kate’s insides turned cold.   _Forever_.  It made her sick and lightheaded just to think about it.  But in the end, there was no other choice.  “Yes.  Wait—”  Her gaze slid to the fingers on her shoulder she could barely make out.  “Let me see you.”

There was a pause, and then the voice said, “If you must.”  The hand released her, and Kate turned around.

Blazing yellow eyes met hers.  The pupils were slits, like a cat’s.  Kate didn’t realize she was backing up until her back was against the bars of the empty cell.  Horns curled out from the sides of his head, framing a long, blocky face that was not at all human.  Fangs protruded from his lower jaw.  Those hands that had held her in place ended in dark claws.

He was a monster.  After all her reading and storytelling, Kate was looking at a real, living monster.

“I know,” he said, baring more long, pointed teeth, “I have _killer_ looks.”

Kate was appalled by the awful timing of that joke and so said nothing.  She could only stare at the sneering creature before her, like a gargoyle come to life.  She swallowed.  “You have a deal,” she whispered.

The monster nodded and started for her father’s cell.  There was the jingle of keys, a click, and then they were back where they had started: she and her father were staring at each other across the room, too overcome to speak.

“Kate…” he began.  His throat worked.  He was trying to say a lot of things, she realized, that he didn’t normally say.

“Yeah,” she choked out.  “I know.”

He got to her in two steps and wrapped his arms around her in a gruff hug.  Kate pressed her face into his shoulder and hugged back, hands shaking.

And then it was over.  The moment she and her father parted, he was hauled off down the stairs.  Kate followed, pushing tears out of her eyes.  She got as far as the bend in the hallway before she collapsed to her knees.  Was it just today that she had cried over losing her position as schoolteacher?  It was almost laughable.  Her life was well and truly over now.  She would never again see anyone she knew—only the face of a monster.

The strange footsteps returned.  Kate wiped her cheeks dry one more time and looked up.  The monster was standing over her.  She hadn’t noticed before, but he wasn’t wearing clothes, just a loincloth and a collared cape.  As if he had stepped out of the Epic of Gilgamesh.

“Your room is this way,” he told her.

Kate’s brow scrunched in confusion.  “What?”

“I do _have_ a guest room,” the monster said, sounding slightly affronted.  He gestured behind him.  “This way.”

Kate got slowly to her feet.  The monster had a torch in hand, and as soon as she was standing, he walked away with it.  She followed after him, feet dragging.  She was weary in a way she hadn’t thought possible.

“You can wander as you wish,” the monster was saying.  Despite all the rasp in his voice, every word was carefully articulated.  “Any locked doors are kept that way for a reason.  Other than that, this place is yours to explore.”  In a low, bitter murmur, he added, “Such as it is.”

“Thanks,” Kate bit out.  But even her anger was halfhearted, railing uselessly against her bleak exhaustion.  “Are there any more… whatever you are?”

“Troll,” he supplied with some amusement.  “Yes and no.  You’ve heard of goblins?”

Kate shook her head in amazement.  “Trolls,” she muttered to herself.

“We’ve moved on to goblins, if you recall.”

“Yes,” she answered in a stronger voice.  “Yes, of course I’ve read about goblins.  But different cultures have different ideas of what they are.”

He looked over his shoulder at her, glowing eyes blank with surprise.

Kate found a scrap of schoolteacher confidence—or at least the kind she could fake—and continued, “So you can’t bring up goblins and expect me to understand exactly what you mean.  Sometimes that’s a general term for common unseelie creatures.  Even when it refers to a specific race, tellings differ on size and intelligence.”

The corner of his mouth quirked, but he faced forward again before she could see any more.  “My mistake.  The goblins I’m speaking of are two feet high and extremely agile.  I wouldn’t call many of them greatly intelligent, but at least they can hold a conversation.”

“There are goblins… here?”

“Yes.”

That silenced her for the rest of the journey, and though she caught a flicker of yellow whenever the monster—troll—glanced back at her, he said nothing more, either.  He set the torch in a sconce and opened a door into a tiled hallway lined with lanterns.  From there he led her to a room on the right.  Kate stood in the doorway and stared.  It truly was a guest room, finer than any room she had ever seen.  She went inside one step at a time.  The curtains and bed covers were a deep wine red, and gold accented the room.

“Your room, mademoiselle.”  When she didn’t respond, the troll continued, “You’re welcome to breakfast in the morning.  In fact, I _insist_ you join me.  In the meantime, goodnight.”  Kate whirled around, but the door had already closed with a click behind him.  She locked it to be sure.  And then she sat down on the bed.

She had nothing to bring with her.  She had none of her books or letters or pictures.  She couldn’t hear the neighbors or smell the bakery from here.  She was alone.

Kate lay back on the bed, already blinking at tears.  This was her last cry, she told herself.  But she really, really deserved one.  Somehow, she had to make this place home.

* * *

“Stone.  Gods.”

Stricklander raised his head from his book and looked straight into the angry glare of a goblin.  It was not a welcoming sight, but unfortunately, it was one Stricklander was accustomed to.  He sighed.

“I bring a woman to you on a silver platter,” the goblin went on, “and _this_ is the best you can do?”

“You carried a torch two hundred meters at best,” Stricklander corrected sourly.

“I led her right to you,” the goblin shot back, purplish skin darkening with anger.  

Stricklander closed the book with a snap.  “I’m not exactly overflowing with resources at the moment, Nomura.”

Her eyes narrowed.  “Then put some effort into it.  If you treat her like a prisoner, this will never work.”

“And you suggest that I, what, let her leave?”  Stricklander raised one eyebrow.  “I’m doing what I must.  It’ll work.  Trust me.”

“Look where _that_ got me,” Nomura hissed.

Stricklander winced as she stormed away.  And then he opened his book again, brow furrowed.  “It has to work,” he murmured to himself.


	2. II

Kate woke up to sunlight glowing at the fringes of opulent curtains.  For just a moment, she enjoyed the welcoming darkness and the comfort of the softest bed she had ever slept on.  That moment was all she had before the reality of the situation caught up to her.  She pulled the covers tighter around her, but they were no sort of protection.  At last, she sat up, stomach churning.  She was a prisoner now.  This was a beautiful room, but it was also her cell.

She was surprised she had slept at all, but then again, the remnants of sheer exhaustion still pulled at her shoulders.  She wrapped her arms around herself, pressed down by the temptation to stay here in bed for the rest of the day, possibly the rest of her life.

Fortunately, though this was her first time locked in a castle with a troll, Kate was no stranger to bouts of despair.  She knew just how to talk herself through getting to her feet and to the wash basin so she could clean herself up.  Though it hardly seemed like it at the moment, she would feel less a tangled mess if she could do something nice with her hair.

The next hour was spent in meticulous routine.  Kate combed her hair and pinned it back while she washed her face.  In the dark, elegant wardrobe she found dresses in various sizes, which raised certain questions but also provided her something clean to wear.  Her own clothes were somewhat worse for wear for having been slept in, not to mention her hours-long ride to get here.  She put them aside to clean up later, gave herself a basic wash, and put on one of the simpler dresses in her size.  It wasn’t quite her usual flowing style, but the midnight blue suited her, and the way it wrapped around wasn’t half bad.

In the end, she decided to tie up part of her hair and leave the rest down.  She was combing it out a final time when a knock sounded on the door.  “Kate?  Are you awake?”

She should have known that the troll wouldn’t leave her be.  Kate continued combing her hair.  “What do you want?” she asked imperiously.

A brief silence followed her words like a smoking crater in the conversation.  “Breakfast is in the dining room,” the troll continued in the same even tone.

“I’m not hungry,” Kate told him.

The troll laughed lightly.  “That seems unlikely.  I’m sure you’ll change your mind once you’re downstairs.”

“No.”

This time the silence was dangerous.  The troll’s amiable tone went cold.  “I _insist_ you eat something.”

Kate bit out each word in an imitation of his clipped speech.  “I don’t.  Want.  To.”

“Fine,” he snapped.  The harsh edge to his voice was back in full force, turning every word into a growl.  “You can starve.”

“And you can go to hell!”

The troll snarled wordlessly just beyond the door.  Heavy footsteps retreated into the distance.  Kate let out a quiet breath.

“Got a real tongue on ya, don’tcha, luv?”

Kate spun around, still clutching a comb in one hand.  Perched on the nearest bedpost was a terrifying creature.  It had a small, spindly body with the ears and upturned, squashed nose of a bat.  It leered down at her with beady black eyes.

Kate gave a little scream.  She also chucked the comb at it as hard as she could.

The creature yelped and cowered behind the bedpost.  “Oi!  I’m fragile!”

“Have you been in here all night?” she demanded.

It peeked out at her.  “What’s it to ya?”  She picked up a hairbrush and it ducked back into cover.  “No, I just got here!  I swear!”

Kate didn’t precisely trust the creature, but there was nothing else for that line of inquiry.  The moment her anger lessened, curiosity sprung up in its place.  “Are you a goblin?”

“What do I look like, the buggerin’ tooth fairy?” it grumbled.  He, not it.  The voice had a decidedly male cant to it.  Satisfied she would throw nothing further, the creature dropped from the bedpost to crouch on the footboard.  “Yeah, I’m a goblin.”

“I’ve never seen a goblin before,” she admitted.

“Lucky,” he said with a nasty grin.  “I’m the looker of the bunch.  It’s all downhill from here, luv.”

“My name is Kate.”

“I caught that.”  He stood on thin, knobby legs to give a ridiculous parody of a bow.  “Enrique.  So pleased, right charmed, et cetera.”

“Nice to meet you, Enrique,” she said politely.

“Pffft,” was his only response.  He jumped over to land gracefully on the wash stand.  “I wouldn’t’ve gone to breakfast with the lout, either,” he confided.

Kate’s expression hardened.  “Just because I agreed to stay doesn’t mean I have to make it _easy_ for him.”

“Ha!  You’ve got spirit, for a human.”  Chortling, he dropped to the floor and started toward the door.  “Hey, what say I give you the grand tour of the place?  And if we happen to pass by the kitchen…”  He tapped the side of his snout-like nose.  “ _Well_ , then.  Eh?”

For the first time since leaving Montreuil, Kate smiled.

Enrique’s tour ended up being more or less directed at the kitchen, much to Kate’s relief.  He pointed out rooms, statues, and passageways as they went, but he was not architecturally or historically inclined.

“Show-off,” he finally declared when she explained what a colonnade was.  “See if I give you a tour again.”  He scowled up at her.  “How d’you know so much about castles, anyway?”

“I read.”  She gave him a dubious look.  “How do you _not_ know about castles?”

Enrique grumbled without answering.  But he brightened again when they came to a short set of stairs.  He bounded down ahead of her and gestured with both arms at an open door.  Light streamed out of it.  “Voila!  Food!  I _know_ there’s not a fancy word for _that_.”

“Hors d’oeuvres?” Kate suggested as she descended the steps.

“Piss off, would you?”

Kate was in luck.  Serving dishes full of fruit and light pastries were gathered at one corner of the kitchen.  One small bowl was badly cracked, presumably from the force with which it had been set down.  Otherwise, the food was untouched and pristine.  Kate had sudden misgivings.  Every story she had ever read warned against eating fae food.  And the troll, so far as she could tell, hadn’t had a bite of this.

“Does he eat?” she asked cautiously.

“Who?” Enrique grunted, struggling to pull himself on top of a chair.  After a moment, he got his feet under him and succeeded.  “Oh.  Yeah, he’s got a taste for that human stuff.”

Kate, reassured that the food was in fact human stuff, served herself breakfast.  She was in no mood to rummage for a plate, so she spread a clean napkin on the table and piled a few pastries and strawberries on it.

A few minutes of eating greatly improved her outlook on life.  She hadn’t realized just how hungry she was until she had food in front of her.  When she was finished, she caught Enrique eyeing her napkin greedily.  She wordlessly offered it to him, and a moment later he was gnawing on the white cloth.  Kate tried not to laugh at him.  “Thank you,” she said instead, and meant it.

“Not a problem, luv,” he returned with his mouth full.

Kate heard a voice drifting in from the hallway before she saw the source.  Another goblin, this one with brownish skin and marginally stockier than Enrique, appeared in the room.  “—doing it again.  Can you believe what—”  The goblin spotted Kate a second after she saw him.  “Mein Gott, Enrique, what are you doing _now_?”

“Taking the initiative,” Enrique replied without missing a beat.

“I mean what is _she_ doing _here_?”

“Eating breakfast,” Kate told him.

The new goblin sighed heavily, a sound far too big for his form.  Enrique gulped down a bite of napkin and waved the rest at his comrade mockingly.  “ _Come_ on, Otto, don’t tell me you’re following _orders_ now,” he sneered.

Otto’s apparent doubts vanished with a disgusted noise in the back of his throat.  “It’s not my problem if he’s throwing a snit.”

Kate realized belatedly they were talking about the troll.  “He did give me free reign of the castle,” she pointed out.

“Well, then,” Otto said decisively, “no problems here.”  Without another glance at Kate, he started to walk away.  He had a decidedly human stride that looked hilariously out of place on the stick-like legs.

“Hold on,” Enrique demanded.  But he was not speaking to Otto; he was pinning Kate with a hard look.  “Free reign?  How much free reign?”

Kate was taken aback by his sudden interest.  Even Otto came to a stop and ever so nonchalantly leaned on the doorway to listen in on the answer.  It was only because of their reactions that she carefully recalled exactly what the troll had said.  “Any locked doors are kept that way for a reason,” she repeated to herself.  “I assume anything that’s not locked is open to me.”

Enrique growled in frustration and Otto let forth another irritated sigh.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Well, there’s only one locked door in the whole place,” Enrique grumbled.

“He keeps it very secure,” Otto supplied.  “No one goes in except him.”

“I even tried the window!”  Enrique sighed.  “But it’s all boarded up.”

Kate’s eyes narrowed.  “Is that how you got in my room?”

“Um, hmm,” said Enrique, whose mouth was suddenly too full of napkin for any real answer.

Kate bit her lip.  Despite herself, she was intrigued.  What could the troll have to hide, even from his fellow monsters?  She tapped a finger thoughtfully on the table.  “What’s in there, I wonder?”

Enrique made a muffled, offended reply.  “We don’t know,” Otto answered for him.  

“Does anyone else know?”

Enrique swallowed noisily.  “Nobody else has gotten so much as a peek inside.”  His eyes glittered.  “But if _you_ could get in…”

“No,” Otto said warningly from the doorway.

“Oh, you wanna know, too!”

“Yes, but—”  Otto pressed his knobby hands together in front of his face and stared at Enrique as if trying to communicate his meaning directly into the other goblin’s mind.  “There are _other_ goals I would rather be accomplishing.”

Kate noted that as a mystery to solve at another time.  For now, she already had one on her hands.  “And you’re sure it’s not just his… bedroom?”

Enrique shook his head.  “Uh-uh.  His room’s not locked like that.  The study, ballroom, library, conservatory—I can get into all those just fine.”

“The…”  Her thoughts hung up on the one word that could always be counted on to distract her.  “There’s a library?”

“A very impressive library,” Otto announced.  “Would you like to see the library?  I would really rather you go to the library.”

Kate hesitated.  Enrique snorted, growled, “ _Ffffffine_ ,” and dropped out of the chair onto the floor.  It seemed the decision was made.  Kate followed the goblins out of the kitchen.  Enrique trudged along behind Otto, and Kate brought up the rear.  She suggested a continuation of her tour to brighten the mood, but Otto showed no interest in doing anything but leading her straight to their destination.  Kate was divided.  She did love libraries, and this gave her an opportunity to avoid speaking with the troll, perhaps indefinitely.  Yet she was surrounded by secrets and monsters, mysteries waiting to be understood, and she wasn’t sure how long she could ignore her desire to unravel them.

She was so intent on coming to a decision that she nearly didn’t notice Enrique gesturing to her.  She blinked down at the goblin.  Otto’s attention was on the corridor ahead of them.  Enrique, now certain she was looking, silently jabbed a finger to the left, where a narrow set of stairs curved up and out of sight.

It took Kate a moment to understand.  But when she did, she winked.  Enrique grinned back at her and pretended not to notice when she slipped away from the strange procession.

Kate crept up the stairs.  She half expected to meet the troll around every bend, but this part of the castle was empty.  Eventually, the stairs broadened to a landing, and her attention was drawn to a single door.  The handle was well-worn metal shaped into a strange downward arch.  She traced it with one finger.  And then she settled onto her knees to take a look at the lock.

It came to her as she was nudging the tumblers aside.  The mechanisms of the door were too high up for the goblins to reach.  And as good as they were at climbing, they would find no purchase on the door handle.  Even assuming one of them knew how to pick locks—which Kate suspected was true—it would be all but impossible for them to open the door.

Kate, on the other hand, had it open in a few minutes.  She paused for just long enough to confirm the absence of heavy footsteps before she slipped inside.

It was dark.  The window let in only the faintest suggestion of daylight.  A lamp burned low and red at eye level.  Kate encouraged it back to life.

What she discovered was not a collection of magic artifacts or piles of human remains.  It resembled nothing more than someone’s attic.  The room was small and neat. The only furniture was a small, round table and a chair.  The rest of the space was taken up with boxes.  A few framed paintings leaned against the wall.

It was underwhelming, but Kate felt there were still answers to be had here.  Since the boxes were closed and the table held nothing but a hand mirror, she went to the paintings first.

The largest painting she recognized instantly.  Almost everyone in France had seen it at some point.  It was a portrait of the king and queen, stern and regal and decked in the most elaborate possible outfits.  She wondered at its presence here.  The next largest frame also contained a portrait, this one of the princess.  Princess Caroline sat daintily on a chair, looking off to the right with a profound expression.  Her long brown hair spilled over one shoulder.

The last and smallest was a royal portrait, but not an official one.

Kate had some inkling that royal artists removed the flaws from their subjects as they painted.  This artist had done no such thing.  The painting was only a little bigger than Kate’s hand.  It was Princess Caroline, but in this rendition, Kate could see that she had rather unfortunate ears.  Her nose was a little too large to be elegant.  But for all that, she had a sunny, slightly lopsided smile that made her more beautiful in this portrait than in the official one.

Kate examined that last portrait for a few moments, privately delighted by the unexpected insight into the royal family.  By the time she put it aside, her curiosity had increased tenfold.

The first two boxes she opened contained letters.  The handwriting on them was too horrendous for her to decipher easily, so she put them aside for the moment.  A third box contained a quilt.  That baffled Kate for several minutes, but to all appearances, it was a perfectly ordinary quilt.  She was picking up a letter again when the mirror caught her eye.  She approached it one step at a time.

As easily as she could picture the troll sitting in here admiring his monstrous features, there was no reason for him to hide it in here.  She picked up the mirror and peered at the back and then the front.  At first she saw only her own face, unclear as it was in the relative darkness.  The more she tried to concentrate, the more shadowy her image seemed to become.

Two burning embers, like eyes of fire, sparked to life in the depths of the mirror.

Kate drew back with a gasp.  As she did, the mirror returned to a proper reflection.  And she was no longer alone.

“What are you _doing_ here?” snarled a voice more animal than human.  A hand of stone grasped her wrist and shoved it down, forcing the mirror to the table.  When Kate turned her head, the troll was looming over her.  His face was twisted in rage and his fangs were bared.  “Do you _know_ what you could have—what have you _done_?”

“Let me go,” she gasped, pulling at her hand.

He flung her wrist aside, forcing her back a few steps.  “You had _no right_!” he roared.  “This is _mine_!”

She felt behind her for the door.  “I’m sorry!”

“ _Get out!  Go!_ ”

Kate ran.

She ran down the steps and through corridors until she was back at the entrance hall, and she kept running.  She didn’t even slow when a goblin darted across her path.  “Where do you think you’re going?” cried the goblin in a sharp female voice.

“Anywhere else!” Kate managed.  No one stopped her as she left.

She was riding through the gates at a gallop in a matter of minutes.  She gripped the reins with shaking hands and leaned forward over the saddle.  Philippe, sensing her tension, all but flew over the forest path.  If she could just make it back to the road, she would make it home.  She repeated that to herself as she rode.

Above her, something shrieked.

Kate twisted in the saddle to look at the sky behind her.  A huge, dark shape glided over the trees.  “Go, Philippe, _go_ ,” she whispered.  Philippe stretched farther forward with each lunge.  It was not enough.

When Kate looked back, the shape was gone.  She dared imagine it had only been a bird she had seen.  Philippe whinnied, high and frantic, and slowed suddenly.  Kate managed to keep her seat in the saddle until something bludgeoned her side.

Kate tumbled to the ground.  An enormous shadow slid over her.  The creature, more like a dragon than a bird, circled her one more time and then folded into a dive.  Kate scrambled backwards, heels catching on her dress.  One hand landed on a rock, and she drew it back, ready to throw it as soon as she was certain she would land a hit.

Something silver flashed across her vision.  The creature shrieked again and veered away from her.

“Get up!” called a clear, familiar voice.  The troll strode into view, cape snapping behind him.  He reached up to his collar and withdrew two small blades.  “Kate, get up!”

The creature got to its feet a moment after Kate did.  It spread its wings.  Its dark, soulless gaze fell on her and then turned to the troll.  With two thundering flaps, it was airborne again.

More blades flashed in the troll’s other hand.  “Here!” he bellowed at the creature.  It swooped toward him.  He stepped back, throwing knife after knife with unerring accuracy, but the creature hardly seemed to feel it.  It struck him as it passed, and the troll fell back.

Then the creature turned to Kate.

Kate tried to keep a tree between herself and the creature.  She knew an instant of relief when the creature landed against the tree, but then it crawled around the thick trunk, its claws biting into the bark.  She threw the rock with all her might.  It knocked the creature’s head to the side, but when it turned back, it hissed at her.

It leapt.  So did another, smaller form.

The troll met the creature in midair, and both rolled to the ground.  Screeches mingled with hoarse yells.  Stone cracked against the ground and metal rang through the air.  The creature struggled to fly back and gain some distance, but the troll kept a fierce grip on its wing with one hand and slashed at it with the other.

Kate had no idea how much time passed before the creature finally lay still.  The troll crouched over it, a knife raised and at the ready.  His shoulders rose and fell with heaving breaths.  After almost a minute, he stood up unsteadily.  He turned around.  His gaze met Kate’s.

Then his eyes dimmed and he toppled to the ground.

Kate had found and calmed Philippe by habit before she began to consider her situation.  Now she was truly free to leave.  The troll was in no condition to stop her.  He was a monster with no right to keep her prisoner.  He had tried to steal away her life.  But he had also saved it.  And there was something more to him, something she still hadn’t figured out.

In the end, what decided it was not what the troll did and did not deserve, but a simple fact that Kate knew well: she was not the kind of person to leave someone to their fate when she could help.

* * *

“Rub it in.  He’ll get over it.”

Kate was unquestionably the least knowledgeable being present when it came to troll medicine, but for some reason she had been elected to apply the treatment.  Nomura—another goblin, the female one who had yelled at her as she left—directed her from atop a shelf.  The troll was propped up in his bed, now conscious and looking less than pleased about it.  Kate pressed the thick, gritty ointment into his shoulder.  He hissed between his teeth.

“Get over it,” Nomura said, this time directed at him.

The troll’s voice was strained but dry.  “Has anyone ever told you you have a charming bedside manner?”

The upper chest and shoulder on his left side were splintered with injuries that were not quite cuts.  Perhaps they were cracks.  “These look painful,” Kate murmured.

The troll’s answer was just as quiet but taut as a wire.  “They wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t pried.”

“Was there anything interesting in there?” Nomura asked.

The troll sat up, eyes blazing.  “Nomura—”

With an unkind laugh, the goblin left the room.  The troll leaned back again once she was gone, face still set in a frown.  It morphed into a grimace when Kate applied the ointment with more force than strictly necessary.  “Maybe I would respect your privacy if you weren’t my jailer,” Kate pointed out.  “But… you did save my life.  So thank you.”

“I… you’re welcome,” he managed.

He turned away from her when she moved to put the ointment up, though whether he was staring out the window or just didn’t want to face her, she couldn’t tell.  “The royal family is alive and well,” Kate said into the silence.

The troll didn’t move, but she could hear all the breath leave him at once in a quiet _ohhh_.

“I thought you might want to know,” she continued, “since… you have their portraits.”  He finally turned to look at her, and those yellow eyes searched hers, absorbing everything she said.  She cleared her throat.  “Princess Caroline has two sons.  They’re teenagers, I think.  Some of the girls in the village could tell you their exact ages, but I’m not sure.  I’m… not a noble, so I don’t know how she’s doing personally.  But I haven’t heard of anyone being in poor health.  And there was a parade two years ago.  They seemed happy.”

Kate had been hoping for more of an explanation, but once she was finished, the troll just tilted his head back against the bed with a thunk and closed his eyes.  “Thank you,” he said softly.

Something in her heart softened at the sight.  “What should I call you?” she asked.

He looked over at her with surprise.  “Stricklander.  Though—ahhh.”  He seemed embarrassed to have said anything.

“Though what?” she prompted.

“Though…”  He cleared his throat.  “You could also call me Walter.”

Kate smiled despite herself.  “Walter,” she said.  She held out her hand as if in greeting, and he took it carefully.  “Let’s start over.”


	3. III

Two days later, Kate had breakfast with Walter.

His injured arm was bound up in a sling, which he looked more than a little mournful about.  In fact, he was less threatening than she had ever seen him.  It could have been an effect of the morning sunlight streaming in, or the fresh, welcoming spread of food on the table between them.  But most likely it was due to the fact he was trying in vain to butter a croissant with one hand.

“Do you want me to help?” Kate asked at last.

“I’m quite all right, thank you,” he said, words clipped.  But it was much more difficult to be intimidated by his temper when it was directed at a pastry.

Kate stood up and came around the table.  “Don’t be an idiot.”  The troll sighed heavily but didn’t resist when she took the knife from him.  The rest—cut fruit and small tarts—would be manageable without her.  “How did you prepare all this?”

“I had some help.”  He straightened in relief when she returned to her own seat.

“The goblins?”

“Believe it or not,” he confirmed dryly.

She smiled at the idea of the goblins clambering around the kitchen.  “Is it that out of the ordinary?”

“It’s a _miracle_ ,” Walter declared.  He raised his brows meaningfully at her.  “They do _not_ help with housekeeping.”

“Really?”  Kate managed a straight face.  “I can’t picture Enrique being uncooperative.”

He snorted loudly, and she allowed her grin to slip out.  “Enrique is an absolute monster,” he told her in perfect seriousness, and that was when she lost her composure entirely.  Walter stared at her as she dissolved into laughter.

“You… I’m sorry,” she gasped out.  “You just—”  She gestured at his horns, his fangs, his claws, trying to communicate the disparity between his appearance and his condemnation.

Walter’s expression remained unreadable, brows drawn up slightly and eyes wide.  After a moment, he shook his head and returned his attention to his plate.  “True, but I have table manners,” he retorted loftily.

Curiosity bubbled up again as soon as Kate had her breath back.  “Enrique is an odd name for a goblin,” she mused.  She glanced cautiously at her host.  “And I’m sorry if I’m being rude, but Walter seems like an odd name for a troll.”

“Nevertheless, it’s mine.”

Fortunately, he didn’t seem at all offended, so Kate pushed ahead.  “How do trolls and goblins get such names?”

“We pick them up along the way,” he said wryly.  Kate got the feeling it was a kind of joke.  “Some we choose for ourselves.  Stricklander, for example.”

Kate mulled that over.  Fae always did have an inordinate number of names in the stories she read.  They were known by different names according to who you asked.  “What about true names?  Are those real?”

He gave her an appraising look, yellow eyes steady on her.  “Real enough,” he allowed slowly, “but we don’t have them.”  A shadow crossed his features.  “Or if we do, we never learned them.”

She bit her lip.  “I’m sorry.”

He waved her off graciously without answering.  Despite that, a gloomy silence settled over the table.  She had clearly put him in a dark mood.  She sensed something deeper than mere frustration at his injury.  The troll ate with mechanical motions even as his eyes, cast downward, burned with something slow and intense.  Kate wondered what she had gotten herself into.  Being in a castle with real monsters was one thing.  Learning that they had no true names and might be unwelcome even to other fae creatures was a different matter.

The fact that there _were_ other fae made her giddy.  But she would save those questions for a better time.

With some difficulty, she drew her thoughts back to her own situation.  A few days ago, this troll had imprisoned her, and now she was eating breakfast with him.  She hardly knew what to think.  She could not forget that he had stolen away the rest of her life without a second thought.  She had never even imagined such cruelty before.

But too, there was something beneath the surface, something waiting to be discovered—both in the strange beings’ circumstance and in Walter himself.

“Kate.”

Kate blinked up at Walter, startled.

“If there’s anything I can provide to make your stay more comfortable,” he said, “you have only to ask.”

Once again, Kate was torn between seeing a terrifying troll and a man—a man who was civil, accommodating, and increasingly nervous the longer she went without responding.  She hesitated, then admitted, “Well… I still haven’t seen the library.”

Walter bared sharp fangs—not in a snarl this time, but in a wide, uneven smile.

When breakfast was over, he led her along the same halls Otto had taken.  “This is my personal collection,” he told her as they approached a set of double doors.  “It’s not complete, of course, but when is one’s book collection ever complete?”

He was still speaking as he pushed open the doors, but whatever he said was lost on Kate.  Hundreds and hundreds of books lined two stories of endless shelves, an ocean of titles and pages and things that Kate had never read before.  She walked inside the room with reverence.

“Kate?” Walter prompted.

“I’ve never _seen_ so many books,” she said, voice wavering.  “I’m the _schoolteacher_ and I’ve never seen _so many_ books!”

Walter pulled down his favorites while Kate wandered the shelves, running her fingers along the worn but well-made spines.  To her surprise, she was familiar with many of the titles.  She had half expected a collection of otherworldly novels, stories told by beings like Walter and Enrique and Nomura.  When she asked Walter about it, he gave her another wondering look.

“They certainly exist,” he said.  He added a couple of books to the growing stack on a desk.  “But they’re not in any language you could read, I’m afraid.”

The beings of Kate’s favorite tales had their own _language_.  The excitement must have shown on her face, because the troll added at once, “I’ll fetch one.”

Kate spent the rest of the day in the library almost without realizing it.  A little after noon, she gave up on making a stack of books she wanted to read lest she pile the entire library in the middle of the room.  She explored more than she read.  She had all the time in the world; for now it was enough to be surrounded by tangible stories in a dozen languages.  The troll language proved to be unlike anything she had ever seen.  Rather than ask Walter to translate it, she spent the last few hours of her day trying to decipher it on her own.  When she finally went to bed, her thoughts were buzzing with words instead of fears.

Kate went to the library the next day, and the next.  And when Walter joined her, she didn’t mind so very much.  He answered her questions with surprising patience, and otherwise he let her be.  He stayed nearby, a book in his hands, but though he appeared to read as long as she did, he hardly seemed to make any progress.

Occasionally they were joined by one of the goblins, who seemed to come more out of a desire to see Kate than scholarly interest.  That suspicion was confirmed when Nomura arrived only to loom over them for a few minutes and then leave.  “Just checking in,” she announced on her way out.

“Bring us some tea, would you?” Walter asked.

“Fuck you,” Nomura said succinctly.

“I hope you get stepped on,” the troll replied without looking up from his book, but she had already left.

Kate hid her laughter behind a copy of _Midsummer Night’s Eve_.  Part of what had eased her mind about Walter’s company was the fact that none of the goblins held any fear of (or, apparently, respect for) him.  They weren’t human, either, but they were smaller and more delicate.  Yet they didn’t seem to think of the troll as any danger to them.

Walter cleared his throat.  When Kate peered over the top of her book at him, he was watching her cautiously.  “You’re a schoolteacher.”

“I was.”

His expression twitched and then froze.  Kate turned back to her reading.  She couldn’t help her bitterness, or the fact that it was well deserved.  After a long moment of silence, she heard, “I’m… sorry.”

She nearly dropped the book in surprise.  “It’s…”  She absently traced the verses in front of her.  “I’m not sure how much longer I would have been allowed to stay, anyway.  The parents didn’t care for my teaching style.”  She snapped the book shut with a huff.  “I don’t know what they wanted, because it clearly wasn’t the best possible education for their children.  Maybe by now they’ve found a replacement who will snuff out the students’ imaginations.”

Kate had found over the course of her career that almost everyone was taken aback by her passion for teaching, but when she finally looked up, scowling, Walter was intent on her words.  “Where did you teach?” he asked.

“Montreuil.”  She pursed her lips.  “And I was the _only_ teacher.”

“Montreuil,” he murmured thoughtfully.  He tapped one dark claw on the desk.  “A small country town, isn’t it?”

Kate stared.  This new piece of the puzzle didn’t fit her current guesses at all, no matter how she tried to wiggle it in.  “You’ve… been there?”

“I’ve passed through.”

“You _travel_?”

One brow ascended.  “It’s been a while.”

How very evasive of him.  Kate frowned.  “What’s your interest in the royal family?”

The corners of his mouth twitched.  “Purely _academic_ ,” he said, and then burst into laughter as though he had just delivered a punch line.

“Do you ever answer any questions?” she demanded.

“Not personal ones.”  The mirth hadn’t quite left his face.  “There’s only so much I can tell you about myself.  I _do_ regret that.”

She narrowed her eyes at him.  “And I assume you can’t tell me why that is.”  She looked down at her book and said decisively, “Fine, then.  I’ll ask you other questions.  Is Puck real?”

Puck, she learned, was very real, and so old as to be almost a force of nature.  Gnomes were real, too, and Krampus, and any number of myths she had grown up with.  One afternoon, Walter even took her out to the gardens to show her some carefully kept flowers from the fae realm.  She took his arm when he offered it.  His skin felt like stone beneath her fingers, rough and unyielding.

Even as he explained how the flowers had come to grow here in France, absently fingering one of the petals as he did so, Kate was distracted by a new curiosity.  She wondered what his horns felt like and whether he had a sense of touch.

Those thoughts followed her all that evening, back inside the castle and through its halls.  It wasn’t so strange, she told herself.  It was only that she wanted to leave no question unanswered.

“Are you listening?” Walter admonished.  The setting sun was glowing through the windows like the gold of his eyes.  They were not as unnerving as they had been.

“I was thinking,” Kate protested.

“Teachers,” he declared with exaggerated hopelessness.  “Always the worst students.”

“I’m an excellent student,” she informed him.

“Very well.”  He eyed her slyly.  “What were you busy contemplating?”

Kate arched an eyebrow at him solely to give herself a moment to improvise _anything_ besides what she had been thinking.  “I was wondering,” she said with every indication of wounded righteousness, “how you came to live in a castle with goblins.”

He was already shaking his head.  “Too personal, I’m afraid.”

“I can always ask the goblins I know,” she warned.

“Oh?”  His sideways look was lazy and untroubled by her threats.  “Who have you met?”

“Nomura and Otto.”

Slowly, his brow furrowed and his mouth tightened.  “And what about—”

“Enrique,” she realized.  She must have been truly distracted to forget Enrique.  She shook off her confusion and grinned.  “Remember, you can’t keep any secrets that Enrique won’t keep for you.”

“Such as the _one_ room I wanted to keep private?” he suggested.

“Exactly.”

They spent the rest of the evening in the candlelit library.  They curled up with their respective books and read in companionable silence.  A handful of times, Walter’s movements startled her; she had forgotten she was not alone.  She decided it was a result of how engrossed she became in her reading.

And after that, there was only one solution.  Kate pulled her chair close enough to his that their knees touched.  She pretended not to notice the long look he gave her.

It was late when Walter finally stood and offered to walk her back to her room.  She took his arm and let him escort her through the halls like a gentleman.  There was something warming about it.  Kate had never wanted to spend the whole of her life in any one place, but for now, she could be happy here.

“What is it?” he asked softly.

“Can you teach me the troll language?” she asked.

He chuckled.  “There really is no satisfying your curiosity.”  He briefly put his hand over hers.  “Yes, I’d be delighted to.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” he promised.

“I just want to be able to read those books.”

“Yes, I know.”

“But until I learn…”  Kate trailed off, suddenly uncertain.

Walter smiled as though he might make fun of her, but instead he said, “Perhaps until then, I could read them to you.”

Her cheeks warmed.  “I’d like that.”

“As would I,” he returned, so quietly she almost thought she’d imagined it.  

Too soon, they arrived at her door.  “Goodnight, Walter,” she said.  

She let go of his arm, but he caught her hand.  With a look that made Kate’s breath catch, he bowed over her hand and pressed her knuckles to rough, gentle lips.  “Goodnight, Kate,” he said.  He was already walking away before she could recover.

Kate slipped into her room, giddy and light almost without knowing why.  She was too delighted to be troubled by the source of her joy.  If Walter was a troll, all the better; she had always loved monsters anyway.  She went to sleep with a smile on her face.

The next morning, she awoke to a nightmare looming over her.  A dark green, spindly creature perched on her bed.  Its lips curled back to reveal small, pointed teeth.  “Rise and shine, luv,” it rasped.

Kate screamed and lashed out, backhanding it wildly.

The creature landed against her wall with a squawk.  “Hey, hey!” it cried.  It limped to one side and curled up defensively.  “What’s got _into_ you?”

“Whatever you are—”  Kate cut off and sat there, pillow raised like a shield, until the voice brought her back to her senses.  “Enrique?  Oh, shit—”  She scrambled out of bed and toward the goblin.  “Are you okay?  I am _so_ sorry.”

“Bit knocked about,” Enrique replied.  He eyed her warily as she crouched next to him.

“I’m so sorry,” she repeated.  “I don’t know what happened.  I just woke up and… I didn’t know who you were for a moment.”

Enrique stared up at her.  She could have sworn he turned a paler green.

Kate bit her lip.  “Are you sure you’re okay?”

He turned away with a noncommittal noise.  He stood slowly, but he walked toward the door just fine.

“Enrique, I’m _sorry_ ,” she tried again.

“Not your fault,” he grumbled.  He stopped to look at her over his shoulder.  “Anyway, best get dressed, eh?  Don’t want to miss readin’ time with Stricklander.”

Kate didn’t reply.  Her brow furrowed as she tried her best to work her way through what on earth he was talking about.  Who was Stricklander?

In the silence, Enrique’s eyes widened in dawning horror.

Was Stricklander another goblin?  That didn’t seem right.  Kate bit her lip again, trying to catch at anything that might help her understand.  Heavy footsteps.  Talking, laughing with a book in her hands.  The feel of stone.  Stricklander, Stricklander, Stricklander…

 _Though you could also call me Walter_.

“Of course,” Kate breathed out.  Cold unease curled in her stomach.  It should not have taken her so long to remember Walter.  She tried out a smile for Enrique’s sake as well as her own.  “Don’t want to miss that.”

* * *

Stricklander stormed into his only haven, cape snapping behind him.  He locked the door and stalked past letters and old clothes and toys made for smaller hands.  The only thing he wanted now was the mirror.  He held it up, fangs bared.  Dark clouds swirled in its depths.  Even as the twin points of flame that marked Gunmar’s attention were appearing, Stricklander hissed, “ _What is this?_ ”

Gunmar’s voice was ground-shaking thunder.  “You dare?”

“Bad enough that you send a _stalkling_ after her the moment you’re aware of her existence.”  Stricklander leaned in, eyes flashing.  “Now you’re tampering with her _memory_?”

Gunmar’s voice rumbled wordlessly in a low, cold laugh.  “Not I, impure.  Those were the terms.  You can no longer shift form; your kind is changed to base creatures; and all who know you forget you.  You vanish from their lives like so much smoke.”

“The people who knew us _before_!” Stricklander insisted.  “The people who knew me as a prince!  People who would have noticed when we disappeared for ten years!”

“No.  All who know you.  And the more they care for you, the faster you are forgotten.”

“But that—” Stricklander choked out.

“Impure,” Gunmar sneered.  “Did you really think you would be given a chance to escape your punishment?”

Stricklander’s throat worked silently.  There was nothing to say—nothing left at all.  He stared into the mirror, surrounded by remnants of a life he no longer had.  The image cleared, leaving him alone with his reflection.

He bellowed hoarsely and slammed the mirror down.  It didn’t crack, not even when he put all his strength into it, not even when he dropped to his knees.

Hours later, Nomura found him in his own chambers.  There had been no other place to go where he could be sure of avoiding Kate.  Whether she remembered him and all he had done or not, he couldn’t face her now.  He had imprisoned her for nothing, and just as he had thought that it _might_ work, that he could learn to love that laugh, their debates, her curiosity...

“It’s all part of the curse,” he said bitterly.  “The closer we get to breaking it, the faster we fade from her memory.”  He bowed his head, hands curling into fists.  “It was all a _joke_ , Nomura.”  Gunmar had offered them a decade-long false hope, just so he could laugh when it slipped through their fingers.

His thoughts were interrupted by a book slamming into his shoulder.  Nomura was standing like a tiny warrior atop the shelf, armed with more books.  Before Stricklander could protest, she began throwing them with alarming speed and accuracy.  “If—you—don’t—try— _something_ ,” she bit out, punctuating her words with leather-bound missiles, “I—will— _murder—you_!”

“Enough!” he snapped.

Nomura leapt down to the nightstand to snarl in his face.  “You did this to us.  You and your self-absorbed revolution.”  She prodded his chest with a bony finger.  “And you will _fix_ it.”

She wasn’t entirely wrong, and in addition, Stricklander was beginning to worry that despite her current form, she would actually find a way to kill him.  “I… may have an idea.”  He met her furious gaze.  “But we don’t have much time.”


	4. IV

Kate paused before the door and took a deep breath.

She wasn’t entirely sure how this had happened.  Yesterday she and Walter had been arguing about whether songs were any help in learning languages, and then he had asked whether she liked to dance.  Now she stood in a lamplit corridor, firelight sparkling off the tiny inlaid gems of her dress, the most intricate, elegant thing she had managed to find.  The deep red fabric swirled becomingly around her waist and draped off her arms.  With her hair pinned up with an ornate comb and borrowed jewelry at her throat, even Kate had to admit she looked lovely.

She put her hand on the doorknob and hesitated.  After a long moment, she lifted her chin and entered.

The ballroom was dazzling.  Kate had guessed there might be one somewhere in the castle, but she hadn’t seen it before now, glowing with light from a hundred lamps.  It was all gleaming marble and arching windows that showed the stars outside.  Should one of her favorite stories come to life, she could not have imagined anything grander.  Wide, shallow stairs led up to a landing and split from there.  One set of stairs ran up to Kate’s feet, and the other led to another entrance opposite her.  And standing there...  

He was not handsome.  Even dressed in finery with his hair pulled back, there was no mistaking Walter for a man.  He was bony and blocky, and those protruding fangs didn’t help anything.  He was a monster dressed as a noble.  And yet… there was something in his ramrod-straight posture, the careful way he held his hands, and the way his eyes (which had stopped unnerving her some time ago) were fixed on her.

Even from this distance, she could see his chest expand as he drew in a long breath.  He looked half dazed, and with his gaze on her as it was, there was no mistaking why.  Kate’s cheeks warmed and she smiled despite herself.

As she started down the steps, soft music sounded from below.  Light chords followed her down to the landing.  Walter offered his arm, as always, and she took it.  Tucked away almost underneath the sweeping stairway was a piano.  Otto sat before it, more content than she had ever seen him.  His spindly fingers flowed up and down the keys in a gentle melody almost without effort.

“I should have told you,” Kate murmured as they neared the floor.  Walter looked down at her, and she smiled sheepishly.  “I don’t know how to dance.”

The start of a laugh escaped him.  “It’s not as complicated as it looks,” he assured her.  “You’ll do fine.”  When they reached the middle of the ballroom, he held out his free hand in a silent invitation.

Strangely, Kate didn’t hesitate to put her hand in his.

Walter guided her step by step across the marble floor.  Kate had a knack for music, so she learned soon enough what the chord progression wanted from her.  Before long she was moving in time with the troll.  They stepped and turned around the room, carried along by the music.

Walter’s eyes glowed like candlelight.  “You look… astounding.”

Kate ducked her head with a helpless grin.  “Thank you,” she managed.  When she met his gaze again, she was smirking.  “You really _do_ have killer looks.”

He burst into laughter.  Halfway through, he snorted horrendously, causing Kate to collapse into giggles.  They clung to each other and tried to stifle their laughter so that they would not disturb Otto as he transitioned into a brighter waltz.

The waltz involved more spinning, which took her a few tries and a few more bouts of laughter to get right.  Kate peered at the goblin as they danced by.  She only caught glimpses, but he seemed entirely absorbed in the instrument in front of him.  “I didn’t know he could play,” she whispered.

“He hasn’t for years.”  There was something unbearably solemn in that statement.

“He looks happy.”

Walter hummed.  His eyes searched hers with inhuman intensity.  “Are you?” he asked lowly.

Kate’s brow furrowed.  “Am I… happy?”

“Yes.”

“I…”  She stared up at him, at the monstrous features that had frightened her and sneered at her and stretched in a terrible smile as he had dragged her father away.  Now the only thing that frightened her was that _this_ —dancing in his arms, talking quietly with him—didn’t trouble her at all.  “I…”  In fact, perhaps she even—

She stumbled, and only Walter’s grip kept her from falling.  She laughed at herself reflexively.  “I apparently can’t think and waltz at the same time.”

His mouth curled into a smile, but she could have sworn that his eyes dimmed.

They danced in companionable silence until the waltz glissed to an end.  Kate was delighted to find that the next song Otto launched into was one she knew.  This time she led the dance, and it was no formal set of moves but something that twirled and glided wherever the music took her.

“You can sing?” Walter asked.

Kate started, the familiar lyrics cutting short before she even noticed she was singing them.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

She blushed even as she made a face at his teasing tone.  “Well… yes.  I do sing.”

He shook his head, eyes gleaming.  “You are full of surprises, my dear.”

“ _I’m_ full of surprises?”  She pretended to scoff.  “Bold words from a troll.  Especially one who suggested a formal dance.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

“Only because you won’t answer any questions.”

Walter only smiled and allowed her to spin an arm’s length away, possibly to avoid such questions.  Kate felt light and graceful as she twirled, heavy skirts following her movements in a rippling pattern.  She felt _beautiful_.  But it wasn’t enough to distract her curiosity as she returned to Walter’s arms.  “You know something new about me,” she insisted.  “It’s only fair that I should learn something new about you.”

“How very… fae of you.”  He leaned in conspiratorially.  “If you must know, red is my _favorite_ color.”

Kate turned a bit red herself.  And when Walter’s careful gaze filled with as much fondness as teasing, her breath caught.

His brows ascended.  “Is something wrong?”

“The dancing,” she replied quickly.  “I’m just out of breath.”

The corner of his mouth quirked, but he did not argue; he only suggested they step outside.

The night was cool and clear.  Moonlight spilled over the balcony, turning stone to silver.  Kate slipped her hand free of his arm so she could lean on the railing and gaze up on the stars.  They looked close enough to touch, glittering in a thousand patterns ancient humans had woven stories out of.  She would never have imagined being able to see such a beautiful night from the balcony of a _castle_ , and with… with…

“What is it?”

Kate smiled hastily as she was joined at the railing.  “Nothing, Walter.”  She shook off the moment of confusion.  It wasn’t easy, but she needed some courage.  “I think I am.”

He tilted his head to regard her.  “You are what?”

“Happy,” she replied, and it rang true the instant she said it.  She put her hand lightly over Walter’s.  “Here.  With you.”

His stony fingers intertwined gently with hers.  When she looked up from their hands, he was grinning at her—inhuman, lopsided, genuine.  She drank in the sight, trying to memorize it.  Walter allowed wryly, “Well, the company here _has_ greatly improved.”

Kate laughed.  Personally, she didn’t think he had a right to complain.  After all, Otto had been stuck with him, too.

But it wasn’t just Otto.  Piano music drifted out through the balcony doors, proof of his presence.  There were others here, too—she _knew_ it—but her mind was blank.  Kate swallowed her creeping panic.

Walter’s hand tightened on hers.  “Kate.”

She brought her attention back to him.  She wanted badly to ignore her worries in favor of the warm glow this night was bringing.  She wanted to revel in the strange fluttering that came from the glow of Walter’s eyes, the twist of his toothy smile.

He hesitated.  “If you _could_ go home…”  His free hand rose toward her cheek.

—a fanged monster, a demon, had one of her hands caught tight and was reaching for her face, dark claws ending in deadly points—

Kate gasped and pressed her hand to her mouth.

Walter grasped her shoulders, face contorted in worry.  “Kate?”

“I’m sorry,” she managed.  She clenched her hands into fists to stop them from shaking.  “I… I don’t know what happened.”  Her eyes welled with hot tears.  “I think something’s wrong with me.  For a moment, I didn’t… I don’t know.”

Perhaps the worst part was watching Walter’s fear slowly sink into despair and resignation.  “Why don’t we call it a night?” he suggested softly.

She shook her head.  “I’m not tired.  This isn’t…”  Her voice cracked.  “This isn’t the first time this has happened.”

The gravity in his expression told her that he already knew.  But even so, he said, “Tell me about it on the way back to your room.”

Walter escorted her through the hallways of the castle more slowly than usual.  His free hand covered hers.  And he was silent as she spoke of the fears she had not wanted to admit.  She told him how she had forgotten Enrique (a name she struggled to remember), and then him.  She lost moments and names and entire people.  Even now she was certain there were others she was missing, but the memories kept slipping from her fingers like sand.

“You’re not going mad,” Walter concluded at last.  “I’m so sorry, Kate.  It’s the magic in this castle.  It’s affecting you.”

“Magic is doing this?”  She clung to his arm.  “I’m not—”

“There is _nothing_ wrong with you,” he said with such conviction that she was taken aback.

Some of her fears evaporated at his words.  She was not mad; her mind was her own.  But some of her fears remained, cold and insidious.  “It’s getting worse.”

“I know.”

“I don’t know how much I’ve already lost.  If I forget any more…”  She swallowed down a sob.  “I’m frightened, Walter.”

“I know,” he said hoarsely.

They arrived at the door to her room, but neither moved to let go of the other.  “What can we do?” she asked.  “There must be some way to stop it.”

Walter was silent for a long moment.  At last, he took her hand and said, “I will see what can be done.  In the meantime, get some rest.”

She wanted to argue, but worry and tears had exhausted her.  “And tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow, there may be a way to fix this.  You will be all right.  I promise.”  He lifted her hand and pressed a tender, lingering kiss to her knuckles.  He briefly brushed a thumb across her cheek.  “Goodnight, my dear.”  His tone was reassuring.

But his kiss felt like a goodbye.

* * *

Kate woke up, and for a moment, she had no idea where she was.

It came back to her in a rush as she sat up—a search for her father that had led to a castle.  She had found him; he was all right.  She scrubbed the heels of her palms over her face, trying to wake up.  She remembered a garden, an old library.  She had gone exploring, as if she would have done anything else when face to face with a mysterious castle.  But spending the night was a step too far.  In truth, she was not entirely sure _how_ long she had been here.  Her father must be worried sick about her now, instead of the other way around.

She spotted her clothes folded up on a nearby chair.  Shaking her head at herself, she rose and got dressed.  If she hurried home, perhaps she could avoid the bellowed lecture that always came from her father’s concern.

She was still pulling her blouse into place as she hurried through the empty stone corridors.  She remembered the way out without trouble, which was fortunate.  She would have hated to get lost in such a large place.

She rounded a corner and nearly walked into a large, inhuman figure, a creature of sickly green and yellow.  She screamed and took a couple of hurried steps back, heart pounding.

But the monster didn’t growl or threaten her.  He just watched her, frozen, with wide eyes, as if he was as surprised as she was.  Sharp teeth slid into view as he opened his mouth.

“I’m sorry,” Kate tried.  “I-if this is… your castle.  I didn’t know anyone was here.”

The monster’s face twisted.  Kate leaned back a few inches, but as soon as she did, she realized he didn’t look angry.  Just… pained.  And his voice was surprisingly human when he said, “Let’s get you home.”

The monster led her the rest of the way to the front door.  Kate had little choice but to follow, though she left a number of strides between herself and the creature.  Had he been here the entire time?  She had _slept_ here.

Just as the door was in sight, a rough, gravelly voice sounded from some distance behind them.  “Oi!   _Oi!_  What do you think you’re doing?”

Kate hurried forward, terror buzzing through her.  The monster did not reply; he only reached back and took hold of her arm to pull her away from the voice.  Its cries turned into howls even as they left it behind.  “Not now!  Damnit, not now!  What are you _doing_?  Stricklander!”

The monster let her go once the door closed behind them.  In silence, he led her to the stables where she had put Philippe.  Kate saddled her horse and mounted with haste, eager to be away from this place.

But the monster had caught Philippe’s reins in one hand.  He stared at her steadily.  Some emotion she could not name burned in his terrible eyes.  “Come back if you can,” he said.

Kate nodded out of fear.  The moment he released her, she spurred Philippe forward.  She had a long ride home and no desire to stay here.

When she looked back, the monster was still standing there.  Watching her.

* * *

“I’m sorry,” Stricklander said.

It was turning cold.  None of them had seen a winter outside this castle in ten years, and now they never would again.  Not without risking their lives, at any rate.

“It was never meant to work,” he continued.  Kate was long gone, but he stared down the path anyway.  “She would have gone mad first.”

There was only silence in response.  Stricklander felt he had an audience, but which of his brethren had followed him outside, he didn’t know.

“She was… miserable,” he added quietly.

“Nomura’s gonna kill you, you know,” Enrique said at last.

Stricklander huffed out a hollow laugh.  “I daresay she is.”  He finally looked over his shoulder.  “And you?”

Enrique was perched on the banister of the front stairs, looking at the path Kate had taken.  His ears were turned down mournfully.  After a moment, he decided, “Guess I’ve got time to make up my mind about that.”

* * *

Kate sat by the river and read.  Normally she would have sat by the fountain in the square, but lately she didn’t appreciate the attention of the townsfolk.  Their questions and their pity bothered her in equal measure.

The questions came because of her recent disappearance.  She could explain so little of it.  Her father knew only that he had fallen from Philippe and stopped at some abandoned building in the woods, and Kate, worried for him, had found him there.  That much they agreed on.  But Kate could not say why it had taken her so long to get home.

Exhaustion, Montreuil’s doctor had told her.  Most likely, she had gotten lost, and the stress and lack of sustenance had caused her to forget part of her absence.  He had found nothing physically wrong with her.

Kate found that a concerning but acceptable answer.  Others accepted it, too, but they felt compelled to ask after her all the same.  Frankly, she was tired of assuring people that she was perfectly all right.

They offered her pity, too.  That was for the loss of her job.

In her absence, the mayor had instated a new schoolteacher.  The sting of that had not yet faded.  And no matter how reasonable the doctor’s explanation, the parents of Montreuil whispered that Kate might be touched.  She had always taught strange things; who was to say all this was not the result of an unstable mind?  Kate doubted she would be regaining her position.

Her one consolation was that the children had welcomed her back enthusiastically.  It was why she did not flinch when she looked up to see Carine standing in front of her.

“What are you reading, Professeur?” the girl asked.  She was eleven—no, she had just turned twelve—and had been one of Kate’s quieter students.

Kate closed the book, careful to mark her place.  “I’m reading about monsters, of course.”

Carine sat down beside her.  “I miss the stories,” the girl confided.

“Me, too.”

They sat together in shared melancholy.  After a few moments, Carine asked, “Professeur, why do you read about monsters so much?”

“Because it’s interesting.”  She scrunched her nose teasingly at the girl.  “And because monsters aren’t so frightening if you know things about them.”

“Like what?”

Kate lowered her voice into her most dramatic performance tone.  “Like how trolls love nothing better… than dirty, sweaty socks!”

“Ew!” Carine declared, but she was smiling.

“Or that goblins will squeal like little girls if you throw something at them!”  Kate had never read _that_ anywhere, of course, but the mental image was amusing.  She wondered where she had gotten it.  Carine was giggling now, one hand over her mouth, so Kate kept going.  “Or that they have terrible manners and never say please or thank you.”

“My brother’s a goblin!” the girl said.

Kate laughed, too.  “Maybe!  Does he yell and pout when he doesn’t get his way?”

“Yes!  Are all monsters like that?”

Without thinking, Kate replied, “Yes, and they snort when they laugh.”

Carine dissolved into more giggles.  Somewhere in Kate’s memory, there was a loud, genuine laugh interrupted by a snort.  Someone scowling as they tried to do something with one hand.  It was like catching a glimpse of a dream; her heart panged, but her mind could grasp nothing solid.

Carine quieted at last, but her smile remained.  “Our new schoolteacher doesn’t like monsters.  But you do, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Kate said, “I think I do.”

A woman’s voice called in the distance, and Carine jumped to her feet.  “See you later, Professeur!”

Kate smiled and waved as the girl left.  A not-so-small part of her felt triumphant at still being the children’s favorite.  She still had that, at least.  She opened her book again.  This author was a bit fanatical in their approach; they gave the impression that all but the holiest acts would land one on the jaws of a bloodthirsty monster.  Perhaps that was what had driven Kate to think up such silly ideas just now.  She had to tell—

Who did she have to tell?

It seemed the more Kate concentrated, the less of the dream (if it was a dream) came to her.  But just as she gave up and started reading a passage about the monster’s insatiable desire for human flesh, she recalled the smell of strawberries.  And when she realized it was getting late and closed the book, she could have sworn the texture of stone brushed under her fingertips.

Kate stood in preparation to go home, but the dream haunted her.  She stood by the river and focused on the emotion that came from the elusive flickers of memory.  Safety; contentment; curiosity; a strange ache.  She almost saw the outline of a face in the reddening light of the sunset.  The brassy laugh she had remembered came with giddiness and an answering smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

With a sigh, Kate turned toward home and started up the bank.  She rubbed the corners of her eyes wearily—and her fingers came away wet.  She blinked in surprise, and another tear slid down her cheek.  Even as she realized she was crying, a sob closed up her throat.

She cried for feelings she couldn’t understand—misery, loneliness, longing.  She cried like she was grieving someone.  As though she had lost someone she—

_Goodnight, my dear._

She saw it all at once.  An implacable horned figure pulled her father away.  Glowing yellow eyes flicked to her in surprise.  A deep, refined voice dragged into a growl when he was angry and softened to music when he was gentle with her.  Small creatures with raspy voices held themselves like men and women and hinted to her in some hidden agenda.  She read and talked and danced with a monster.  She remembered every smile he had ever given her.

“Walter,” she gasped.

She ran back to the house, stuffing the book in her bag as she went.  She bypassed her father standing at the front door in favor of the stables.

“Kate?” her father called after her.  “Where the hell are you going?”

“I have to go!” she replied breathlessly.  Philippe bobbed his head nervously at her mood but otherwise allowed her to saddle him and lead him outside.  “I forgot something!  It’s important!”

“But it’s almost dark!”

“I won’t be long!” she assured him, and it was the truth.

She remembered the way.

Kate took the road into the woods.  She took Philippe along at a canter, scanning the trees for the side path she knew would be there.  All the while, she clung to the emotion that had brought her here, even as it wrung her already pounding heart.  She must not forget again.

She found it after a time, little more than a rabbit trail cutting through the underbrush.  This time she was the one to guide Philippe to it.  He nickered fitfully but obeyed.

She urged him to a gallop as soon as the trail widened to something better resembling a road.  The first time she had made this journey, she had been afraid for her father.  Now she was afraid for Walter, for in remembering him she had also remembered the agony in his voice when he had let her go.

She heard the rumbling before she saw the castle.  Something was sending slight tremors through the earth, and she sensed by intuition rather than hearing that it was coming from the castle.  She flipped Philippe’s reins over the branch of a tree and raced inside.

Inside, the tremors were worse.  Two familiar goblins huddled in a doorway across the entrance hall, and Kate made her way to them at once.

“You’re back,” Nomura said.  It was just too flat to be a question, but her expression was shocked.

Enrique was gaping up at her, too.  “Some timing you’ve got, luv.”

“Where is he, Enrique?” Kate asked.

He grinned widely.  “Gardens.  Book it!”

She did.  Kate panted as she went and flinched at every shake of the castle, but she made it to the garden.  She stumbled to a halt as soon as she landed on the cobbled walkway.  Stalking among the fading greenery, searching the night sky with gleaming yellow eyes, was Walter.

Kate drew in a lungful of air.  “Walter!” she cried.

He spun around.  The rumbling seemed to stop as he met her eyes.  His mouth silently formed her name.

Despite her weariness, Kate ran forward again.  Walter caught her in his arms, and she curled her fingers around his shoulders.  “I remember everything,” she said at the same moment he asked incredulously, “You came back?”

Walter freed one hand so he could cup her cheek.  “Kate…”

“I don’t want to forget again,” she whispered.

His gaze softened.  The castle shook around them.  “Kate, you can’t stay.  Forces you don’t understand still have power in this world.”  He pulled her closer as another quake ran through the ground.  “This is _his_ magic, and I don’t know what he intends to do to us.”  He put his hands on her shoulders as if preparing to push her back.  “We have so little time.  I can’t risk you staying.”

“Walter, don’t—”

“You have to go.  If something were to happen to you…”  He brushed his thumbs over her shoulders.  “You _must_ go.”

_I love you._

Kate reached up to press her hand to his face.  She leaned in as if her pleading gaze alone could convince him.  “I don't want to leave you.”

_I love you, too._

They met in the middle, lips of stone against flesh and blood.  It was a fierce kiss, desperate to impart everything they had to say.  A shockwave, ringing like the first rays of sunlight, burst from them and cut through the rumbling of the castle.  When they parted, the night was still and somehow brighter.

Slowly, Walter let go of Kate and looked down at his hands.  With a sudden flash of energy, his inhuman form was replaced by that of a man.  Everything that had made him look monstrous—his horns, his fangs, everything—was gone.  The eyes that stared back at her were a calming green.  But that dazed, lopsided smile was the same.  “I… I can…”  There was another flash, and the troll she knew so well exclaimed, “Ha!”  Magic flashed green once more, and he was human.

“You’re a changeling,” Kate managed.

“How do I look?” he asked, laughter in his voice.

She was about to reply that he in fact looked very handsome when huge stony arms suddenly lifted her into the air.  “You did it!” crowed another familiar voice.  “I can’t believe it!  You actually did it!”

Kate was set back on her feet and looked up to see a solidly built green troll, over a head taller than her.  “ _Enrique_?”

He winked.  “The one and only!”

There were more beings, both troll and human, appearing in the doorways.  Walter stood straight and tall in the middle of the gardens and looked over them all.  He looked both delighted and nervous to see them.  Kate eased over and took his hand.

At last, a tall, lithe purple troll said in Nomura’s voice, “I think that’s enough quality time together.  I am leaving.”

Enrique snorted.  “Yeah, no offense, but if I never see any of you buggers again, it’ll be too soon.”

“Especially Stricklander!” someone shouted from a different archway.

“Oh, get out of my castle if you’re going,” Walter retorted crossly.

And many of them did.  A plump man who could only be Otto turned on his heel and waved goodbye in one smooth motion.  Nomura lingered a little longer than the others to give Walter a surprisingly respectful nod before leaving.  Magical energy crackled, and when Kate looked over, Enrique had taken the shape of a tall, broad-shouldered young man with short hair and mischievous brown eyes.  “Well, I’ve got trouble of my own to cause.”  To Kate, he said, “Write sometime, yeah?”  Then, with a devilish grin, he too was gone.

In the sudden quiet, Walter took Kate’s hands in his.  She stared wonderingly up at him, at strange features that formed familiar expressions that made her heart flutter.  But all too soon, a new revelation came to her.  “This castle has always been here,” she blurted out.

“For a few decades, yes,” he agreed.

“I had… forgotten about that, too.”

“Everyone did.”  He tilted his head with the start of a smirk.  “Would you like to meet the royal family?”

“ _What_?”  But that clicked into place, too, as if that one piece had never been missing at all.  “There wasn’t just Princess Caroline.  There was also…”  She shook her head.  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because at the time I didn’t feel I looked the part.”  He kissed her hand.  “But you do.  You always have.”

Her brow furrowed in confusion.  “Looked the part?”

Walter smiled, frank and nervous, and explained, “Of a princess.”

Kate stood on her toes and kissed him again.  She had no way to know for sure, but she felt they were about to live happily ever after.


End file.
